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If this is your first visit, welcome to my blog of memories and observations. If you wish to be notified of new posts, enter an e-mail address above, and click on "Submit." As we move through a sixth year of this venture, I thank all who have made regular visits, as well as fellow bloggers who have found Stomp Off worth linking to. Doing this sort of thing is time-consuming, but I try to post fresh material at least once a week—let me know what you think. There is a Commentary option at the end of each post and a Guest Book can be reached by scrolling down and clicking on the quill image. I welcome your observations, reaction and/or suggestions in either spot—or both. As for blog content, the most current posts are on the home page, starting at the top. Earlier items are listed by month, year and title in the archive index. To zero in on a particular key word or subject, use the search option that is located directly beneath the blog's masthead. Most images can be enlarged with a mouse click, and there are links to some of my favorite blogs, etc.Since visitors have come from 150 countries, a translator with numerous languages is located below. You can at any time revert to English with a click at the top left of this page:

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4/21/08

If you have followed my posts regarding WBAI, you already know that I once worked there, became the manager, and left to go with the BBC. You will also know that I recently tuned in for the first time in many years and that I find much of what I heard to be cause for alarm. Why? Because WBAI is beginning to sound like other stations, rather than the alternative that Pacifica meant for its stations to be. Having thoroughly surfed the radio dial and found nothing of substance, pacifist Lewis Hill created the Pacifica Foundation shortly after WWII, and started KPFA-FM in Berkeley, California. The concept was unorthodox and simple: No commercials, no unreasonable time restrictions, just a live microphone for free discussions and disparate worlds of thought, a place from which emanated unbridled artistic and political expressions, a radio station unaffected by current trends or ratings. The impossible dream? Of course not...or was it? Today, WBAI is a little bit like a fine vintage of Chateau Mouton-Rothschild into which cherry Kool-Aid is being dripped. Albeit barely so, the wine is still discernible, but its bouquet is gone.

One might say that Bob Fass, who was first heard on WBAI in the early Sixties, is the personification of Lew Hill's concept. By the mid-Sixties, when I became the station manager, he had been fired by my predecessor, but that was a big mistake for Bob was born to be heard on WBAI. No other station would find acceptable his free-flowing ad-lib approach to broadcasting and no other host could come close to making that concept work as well as it has for almost half a century. Yes, Bob survived his firing. He heard my first Report to the Listener and concluded that my idea of broadcasting might differ from that of the former manager. He was right and, thus, reinstated as the station's voice in the night. Back then, we usually signed off at midnight and fired her back up in the morning. It was not the law, nor did it make much sense, so we shelved the Star Spangled Banner tape and became nocturnal.

Things have not gone smoothly for Bob in the past decades. He was arrested and placed on some kind of probation for something silly that displeased a clueless management or board, and he survived at least one coup, but he is still there, still not getting paid a penny for his work and still not appreciated by the ever-changing powers that be. Bob's show, Radio Unnameable, has not changed much except that it is more predictable than it used to be, but we can chalk that up to an era where things are more foreseeable. There was a time when people like Bob Dylan, Lenny Bruce, Arlo Guthrie, and most wanted radicals popped in to do things that only a Pacifica station would allow—sometimes things that only could be done on Bob's show. Actually, that term. "show," doesn't cover it—Bob turned his airtime into events, we used to call them "happenings," and how fitting a term that was!

I've said enough here. I hope you can tune in tonight, April 22nd, at midnight (New York time) and hear me stumble down memory lane with Bob and whoever might pop in. Well, popping in isn't as easy as it used to be—now one has to produce an ID and get the nod from security, but I have my passport ready.

Whether you are in Times Square, Teaneck, Tacoma, Toledo, Tokyo, Timbuktu or Oz, you can hear Bob's Radio Unnameable at midnight on any Thursday, streaming around the globe at WBAI.org.

Your comments are welcomed

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FROM ALBERTA HUNTER'S SCRAPBOOK...

My good friend, Alberta Hunter enjoyed a very long career during which she toured extensively on her own and, during WWII and the Korean Conflict, as they called it. Her overseas travels began in 1925, when she bought a ticket to France, and continued until her death, in 1984. She loved to keep mementos, some of which you will see here.
If you run your cursor over the bottom right of the picture area, you will see a control panel that allows you to stop and examine an image or move in either direction.
If you move your cursor over the picture, you will see controls that allow you to pause and take a better look.

Who I am ...

Some of my great grandfather's sketches

My great grandfather, Carl August Broberg, was a Copenhagen coffee importer with a passion for all things maritime. He was constantly sketching (mostly ships) on any piece of paper he could find. I have hundreds of his wonderful drawings, dating as far back as the 1860s. Many of them are rendered on the backs of waybills, calling cards, memos, etc. Here is a small sample.

Slideshow Gallery

When you write about the music, record companies do their best to grow your record collection, but they also love to send out press releases and those 8 x 10 glossies. I eventually threw out my stacks of press releases, but I kept the photos and added a few of my own blurry pre-digital images.

Remembering Bessie Smith

It was a chance hearing of a Bessie Smith recording, played on the Danish Radio's weekly "Jazz Club" program (it's theme was Jelly Roll Morton's "Oh, Didn't He Ramble") that brought my attention to jazz and blues. My mother thought I had become obsessed with it, and she was right, but her now 60-year-old prediction that I would "grow out of it" did not come true—obviously. So, since Bessie opened the door and totally changed the direction of my life, I think it is only fitting that I maintain this little tribute on my blog. Images will change from time to time, but this is Bessie's spot.

A big Thank You to John Francis for some of the rarest of these images.